<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Palliative Practices by VerdantVulpus</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601871">Palliative Practices</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus'>VerdantVulpus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale fucks up, Blood, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump, Crowley has chronic pain, Crowley's Basically A Good Dude, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Fluff, Everyone is an idiot, Irresponsible Pain Management, It Hurts to be Good, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, Jean Claude - Freeform, M/M, Opium, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pain, Pain Management, Probably Pretty Anochronistic, The Arrangement (Good Omens), The Bastille, The Most Irresponsible Pain Management, This Universe is 6000 years old so whatever, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:49:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the following prompt.</p><p>What if every time Crowley does a good deed, he suffers pain after because it goes against his demonic nature (and the greater the good, the more intense the pain)? Then Aziraphale finds out that Crowley has been living with that pain ever since the Arrangement.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>My faves - Good Omens Whump</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Drink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/EA_Lakambini/gifts">EA_Lakambini</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trying my hand at some fun prompts to get the juices flowing. This fic is brought to you by EA_Lakambini for the prompt, PinkPenguinParade, for the quick beta readthrough, and my toddler for the sleep deprivation that helps me not overthink fics before posting them.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>pal·li·a·tive</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>/ˈpalēˌādiv,ˈpalēədiv/</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>adjective</span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span>(of a medicine or medical care) relieving pain without dealing with the cause of the condition.</span></li>
</ol>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time was little more than a bee sting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Arrangement was fresh as the first melt of spring and Crowley was actually disappointed that his first job was so piffling, barely even a blessing. Still, he was used to the lack of detail that came with these jobs. Wasn’t like his side was any better. Go here. Do a thing. That’s all he ever got told. Crowley found it a bit surprising that Aziraphale was similarly in the dark about these things, but then again, perhaps he wasn’t, and the angel was just keeping the details secret from the demon. That, Crowley decided, with an uncomfortable amount of regret, was much more likely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley lurked around the cooperage for a couple hours watching his victim, a bonny looking lad of seventeen with golden curls and deep brown eyes. The boy worked sluggishly, gaze rarely lifting from his fingers. When the other men left to take their meal, the boy stayed and worked on. Crowley wandered in and performed his barely-a-blessing. It was a compliment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good work. Well done, you. Excellent barrel. Hoops look good. Right. So long.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no satisfaction in jobs like this, where he couldn’t see any part of a larger plan at play. Crowley suspected it was busywork, that Hell (or Heaven in this instance) was just sending their agent on a snipe hunt because nothing new had come down the pipe yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(Crowley had no way of knowing that the boy was deep in despair and was considering hanging himself that night. He’d been in search of a sign, some small bit of kindness to keep going. A month from now he’d meet the love of his life. A century later his descendant would become a judge and their rulings would improve so many lives.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley scratched at a spot on his palm, a pin prick of irritation like a burn of an errant ember flung from a fire, or a bee sting. He returned to his room at the drafty collection of boards and nails this town called an inn and wrote a coded letter to the angel to say the job was done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>_______________</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The second time was like being kicked by a Clydesdale. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley smelled the smoke before the first scream sounded from the factory. He pressed his back against the stone wall of the opposite building and flicked his topaz eyes up to the darkening sky. He’d gotten fairly good at summoning storms over the years. They made excellent cover, lent a gravitas to some of his temptations or torments, and they greatly improved a good sulk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In this case, the storm brought sheets of rain down, soaking the streets and buildings and slowing the spread of what could have been a tragic factory fire. The doors and windows opened and seamstresses and bobbin boys fled the building. The rain picked up. The wind didn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A woman held a child against her breast crying in relief, her dress streaked with soot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you God,” she cried over and over as more women and children left the building and the fire continued to be held at bay by the sudden storm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley snorted in derision, or at least he meant to. He found himself suddenly flung back by a crushing pain in his chest. He tried to gasp at the pain but his lungs wouldn’t inflate. Mud splashed into his open mouth as he writhed on the flooded street. The woman rushed to help him, but screamed when she saw his eyes, wide and bulging in his agony, and she grabbed her daughter and ran, leaving him to twist and claw at the mud until his corporation could process no more and he blacked out under the torrent of rain.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We need to meet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sent the letter two weeks after the factory fire incident. It had taken him nearly that long to recover enough to hold a pen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>________________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He woke hours later soaked through with mud and crumpled in a corner by a rain barrel. It served to keep him from being noticed by the fire brigade, but it wasn’t safe to stay there. Unable to stand, Crowley crawled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flaming bollocks! </span>
  </em>
  <span>How he hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>crawling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Several times he’d try to brace against a wall and pull himself to standing, but his chest would splinter and crack and he’d collapse in a pool of liquid agony all over again. His pride wasn’t worth it. He turned his head and gagged on the mud in his mouth, felt the upward pull of his stomach and whined fearfully before painfully vomiting up black ichorous blood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky continued to pour down a river of rain, and the mist hid his humiliation as he dragged himself slowly back to the inn. Finally someone noticed him and came to his aid. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, his filthy hair slicked across his face. Strong arms wrapped around his brittle body and for a shocked moment Crowley thought it was the angel lifting him. He tried to warn him off but the jostling embrace ripped a scream of anguish from his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was the innkeeper, not the angel, who brought him to his bed, stoked a fire in the small hearth at the end of the room, and left him there with an extra blanket and a terse request that Crowley not die there. The innkeeper returned the following morning to find out if Crowley had indeed passed. Crowley asked for ale, shivering in a fever of pain. Ale had come, and it hadn’t stopped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>_____________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Aziraphale found him at a nearby tavern Crowley had recovered further, having mostly healed himself in various dens of sin, but the memory of the agony haunted him constantly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Crowley had suggested the Arrangement, he’d known it came with risks, but assumed he and the angel would be clever enough to mitigate it. The Authorities really didn’t seem to be paying close attention and as long as the tasks got done, it didn’t seem to matter who was actually doing them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never considered that their very natures would revolt against it. He couldn’t stand to go through it again. And the thought of what Aziraphale must have gone through as well! He’d sent the poor angel a job that required pulling a convent into sin! The poor sod must have been coughing blood for a week. No. They had to end this now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look wretched,” Aziraphale said by way of greeting. “Do you need something more to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Satan, yes,” Crowley croaked, shoving his empty cup at the angel. “Always.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked for a serving girl, but the tavern was especially busy (which was why Crowley had chosen it as a meeting spot) so the angel filled the cup back up with a miracle. Crowley downed it immediately. Wine instead of ale. Still alcohol though, so he didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you asked to meet so soon. I only just saw you two months ago,” Aziraphale fussed, his pale eyes darting around as if expecting one of these drunks to reveal themselves to be Archangels at any moment. There was another reason to end this. It was clearly too stressful on the angel. Aziraphale drew Crowley’s note from the pocket of his pale cloak and slid it across the table. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We need to meet,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>scrawled in shaky writing with a badly leaking pen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yeah,” Crowley croaked again. His chest was particularly aching today. It was raining outside. “I know we agreed not to —”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you unwell?” Aziraphale gasped, seeming to see Crowley for the first time. “You sound half in the grave!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeeahhh wellll,” Crowley gave a sardonic wave. “Been having a Heaven of a time after the whole ...fire..thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both winced at the weak obfuscation. They were meant to be cleverer about it but Crowley was in pain and far closer to sloshed than sober and his tongue was fuzzy and the angel was more beautiful than he remembered. Was Aziraphale always so lovely? He was, right? The number of times Crowley had wanked to the thought of him suggested that yes, Aziraphale was always lovely. Why was it distracting now?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I meant to talk to you about that,” Aziraphale lowered his voice, leaning closer to Crowley across the wooden table. Crowley instinctively leaned in as well, breathing in the soft sunshine smell of his companion. His eyes closed. Distracting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened,” the angel said carefully. (What you did). “It was extremely fortunate.” (Well done.) “All those women and children. It could have been a disastrous tragedy. I should have been there. I’m so glad it worked out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last two sentences weren’t part of the usual code. Crowley looked up at the angel curiously. Blue eyes shone back at him, wide and open and happy. Aziraphale was pleased. Aziraphale was pleased with Crowley!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ngk,” Crowley leaned back, feeling suddenly flushed and too warm. “Uhhnn... could you…” he tossed back the rest of his wine with a painfully large swallow. “Water?” he pushed the cup back at the angel. He felt a heat growing in this throat, threatening to burst into flame. He was going to combust, discorporate into an inferno and burn the whole bloody building down, and the angel with it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really are out of sorts, aren’t you,” Aziraphale blinked at him owlishly as he refilled the cup with cool water this time. “Take small sips dear,” he murmured, and to Crowley’s horror the angel came around the table to slide onto the bench beside him. This was a breach of protocol. It was dangerous. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was dangerous.  It was stupid. It was far too hot in here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Angel, don’t,” Crowley hissed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Aziraphale lifted the cup to Crowley’s trembling lip and eased some of the water onto his smoking tongue. All at once the sparks died in Crowley’s mouth. The heat concentrated and sank down his throat to his stomach. “There you are, dear boy. Very good,” Aziraphale whispered soothingly. The heat concentrated and descended again, this time making a home between Crowley’s skinny hips. Crowley flushed again as the pain transmuted into something...else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hnnnngg,” Crowley slumped forward until his forehead hit the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t lift his head, but instead waved his hand urgently for Aziraphale to move away from him. “Back. Back to your side of the bloody table, you idiot,” he hissed into the wood. Aziraphale obeyed and took some of the strange heat with him. Crowley drew a shaky breath and slowly straightened up again. Aziraphale watched him silently with wary eyes. Crowley sipped his cold water and thought furiously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The...Arrangement,” he began, suddenly feeling uncertain how to code this part.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It has been most fortuitous,” Aziraphale nodded and Crowley put his cup down, confused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Has it been?” he asked meaningfully. “No...problems on your end?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Have you not been licking little paper cuts after your temptations? Have you not been vomiting up your own spleen over your torments?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale smiled a little guiltily. “It has gone better than I expected it could, honestly,” he whispered, and then actually giggled. “I confess in one instance I may have enjoyed it a little.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A giggle</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Crowley blinked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you!” Aziraphale reached across the table for a heart stopping moment Crowley thought the angel would take his hand! He set his palm down on the table beside it instead. “You have done wonderfully. I admit I’m impressed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t…” Crowley had to pause and take a breath against the strange little pleasure dancing in his guts. “...hurt you to do these things?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Aziraphale was the one to give a dismissive wave this time. “You’re right about them not caring at the end of the day. My side will be furious if they find out, mind you, but I don’t think it will matter in the long run. Everything is in balance. I haven’t a problem continuing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Crowley had assumed that Aziraphale’s angelic constitution would be similarly afflicted by doing Hell’s will, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Aziraphale seemed perfectly content, as much as he ever did, the perpetual fussy bugger. Meanwhile, here Crowley sat in the scars of his blessings. How utterly unfair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked out the window to hide his glare. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault. It made perfect sense. Angels were beings of divine good, meaning what Heaven </span>
  <em>
    <span>decided </span>
  </em>
  <span>was good. They were also soldiers and judges and executioners. They delivered swift “justice” on the unworthy. They were, in Crowley’s estimation, quite terribly cruel at times. So Aziraphale was built to withstand some ugliness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Demons, however, were just demons. Tempt and pull humans to sin. That’s a demon’s whole thing nowadays. There’s no wiggle room for selfless acts of good. His nature just wasn’t designed to withstand even the smallest bit of benevolence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it hurt you?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, and Crowley schooled his features, straightened his glasses before turning back to the angel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” he hummed, stalling for time as he composed himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale leaned toward him again, and this time Crowley leaned back, away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those blue eyes were wide again, but this time with concern. The hand on the table shifted slightly closer to Crowley’s, the tip of a finger almost brushing celestial skin against infernal. The little pleasant heat in Crowley’s hips darted up to his chest, made his heart beat louder in his ears. It frightened the demon with its intensity, and the realization that everything that was happening to Crowley was happening to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone </span>
  </em>
  <span>was terrifyingly lonely. He felt vulnerable in a way he’d never experienced before. Crowley drew his hand away quickly. Aziraphale drew away more slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you ask to see me?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Has something changed?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. We have to stop. Pretending to be an angel is going to destroy me, and you’re barely even put out by pretending to be a demon. I hate you. I hate all of you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley hissed. Aziraphale blinked owlishly again, those pale lashes dancing over kind blue eyes. The only eyes that have ever seen his own ugly eyes and not widened in terror. Aziraphale was the only one who leaned </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Crowley instead of recoiling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing’s changed,” Crowley answered. “Just under the weather and wanted company.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was all the way across the continent, Crowley!” Aziraphale chided. “You called me here to...to...have a drink with you?!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you’re surprised I’d be selfish?” Crowley smirked, holding his palms against his ribs beneath his cloak to quell what felt like was going to be another bout of painful spasms. He’d been enduring them all week. “Come on, Angel. Have a drink with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Drinking made it bearable. The spasms were weaker when his muscles were heavy with drunkenness. He was going to need to keep taverns in mind before future acts of benevolence if he was going to survive the Arrangement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale heaved a great sigh of annoyance, but performed a minor miracle to get a server’s attention and order another round of drinks. Crowley gritted his teeth as the spasm took over anyway, biting back a pained cry, and pretending it was only a shiver from all the damp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley drank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Opium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You look good as a revolutionary,” Crowley smirked, eyeing Aziraphale appraisingly. He really did. Crowley hoped he’d keep the outfit. Of course, the angel had looked good in the cream outfit too, but Crowley much preferred the peasant look. He could entertain a notion of pulling the fluffy blonde down to his level, sullying his standards, and showing him how much more fun it was down on street level. </p><p>Aziraphale merely scoffed at Crowley’s leer, grey eyes hard as he watched the men up ahead. Crowley followed his gaze, a little surprised the guards hadn’t realized their mistake yet.</p><p>“Only you may be cutting it a bit close with Jean Claude, don’t you think?” Crowley hinted.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If your head cannon is that Aziraphale is a flawless cinnamon roll who isn't ever wrong-footed or on occasion, down right cruel, then this might be a good chapter to skip. This Aziraphale has some growing up to do, and is, in fact, kinda a tool.</p><p>No beta for this chapter so *crosses fingers*</p><p>Vive la révolution!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>France 1793</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crepes?” Aziraphale suggested lightly? Crowley grinned, genuinely amused to see this mischievous streak from the angel. Jean Claud, freshy clothed in Aziraphale’s attire, was dragged screaming from the cell and the two immortals followed behind, safe behind Crowley’s invisibility. They were dressed inconspicuously now, but strangers were still not likely allowed to wander the Bastille so best not to draw any more attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look good as a revolutionary,” Crowley smirked, eyeing Aziraphale appraisingly. He really did. Crowley hoped he’d keep the outfit. Of course, the angel had looked good in the cream outfit too, but Crowley much preferred the peasant look. He could entertain a notion of pulling the fluffy blonde down to his level, sullying his </span>
  <em>
    <span>standards</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and showing him how much more fun it was down on street level. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Assuming the street in question wasn’t at war, or otherwise coated in suffering. They’d have to leave France, for sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale merely scoffed at Crowley’s leer, grey eyes hard as he watched the men up ahead. Crowley followed his gaze, a little surprised the guards hadn’t realized their mistake yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only you may be cutting it a bit close with Jean Claude, don’t you think?” Crowley hinted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Horrible man,” Aziraphale sniffed. “Wouldn’t you agree he deserves a sample of the work he so delights in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked between the angel and the outrageously dressed Frenchman and frowned. “By which you mean the...guillotine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That would be a rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>final </span>
  </em>
  <span>bit of ‘sampling’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The very same,” Aziraphale responded firmly and all at once Crowley saw the angel in a brand new light. Crowley had suggested he change his outfit (he couldn’t continue to walk around dressed as a lacy marshmallow!) but the angel didn’t have to put his aristocratic clothing on Jean Claude.  He definitely didn’t have to send the man to his death.  That was surprising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was a demon, but he didn’t make a habit of murdering humans just because they angered him. He suspected many of them had met untimely ends due to his interference and eternal damnation after the fact, but Crowley never directly killed people. The angel wasn’t serious about this, was he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The man was just doing his job, Angel,” Crowley reminded him, watching the guards pull the man into the courtyard. “ And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t even supposed to be here, I might add.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale seemed unmoved, heading out into the sun, determined to leave the courtyard in search of a snack. Crowley followed, bemused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d seen the angel perform all sorts of benevolent acts over the years. He’d healed the sick, given comfort to the dying, forgiven so many sins. Countless humans had been saved, comforted, guided, and otherwise blessed to have come across Aziraphale over the centuries. Crowley wouldn’t ever want to admit to paying the slightest bit of attention to it all, but as much as he preferred to hide his eyes, he wasn’t blind. Aziraphale was good. He was an angel. And more to the point, he was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel. Well, he was a rubbish angel, maybe, but he was an angel who was good. Not all of them were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which begged the question. What made Jean Claude not only unworthy of the angel’s forgiveness, but apparently deserving of his wrath? He was just a regular man, like the others. Crowley couldn’t make sense of it. He just seemed like a poor, angry, desperate, revolutionary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. Revolutionary. There it is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley scowled at the angel’s back, unconsciously slowing his gait. Of course the angel would have no pity for a rebel! It was easy to judge the savagery of head-chopping on the outside if  you ignored all the senseless death, suffering, poverty and starvation the people had endured at the hands of the greedy aristocracy that led to it. Ignored it, like the elite had ignored the people’s pleas until dissent built below their feet like a powderkeg, until France exploded in open revolution. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned back, seething. Jean Claude was being placed in the machine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Animals</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Aziraphale had called them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley snapped his fingers, low by his hip. Another guard looked up from recording the names and recognized Jean Claude. The execution was halted while the shaking man was pulled back out of the machine, no doubt to be heavily questioned about how all this came to be, but keeping his head, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was waiting for him outside the Bastille when he came down the steps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There you are,” Aziraphale huffed. “I should have known you’d stay behind to watch. Can we please go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley glared at him. First the angel accused him of causing all this strife, then he sent a man to his death, and accused </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley </span>
  </em>
  <span>of taking the piss. Aziraphale must have popped up to Heaven for a while since the demon had seen him last. Might explain the especially terrible sense of tone deafness that led to him coming into a warzone for a craving in the first place, let alone the rest of his behaviour. He wasn’t himself, that’s all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After you,” Crowley grumbled, then staggered under the sudden wave of nausea. Cold trickled down his face, like dripping water, or a creep of frost. He wheezed and shuddered violently as his stomach and lungs contracted suddenly. He hadn’t felt this sensation in decades, not since the factory fire. He gulped loudly and lurched against the wall. His pulse sped, drumming loudly in his head. He felt on the verge of panic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good Lord, Crowley, “Aziraphale rushed to him. “Are you all right? What’s happening?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit! Shit shit shit!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. Get off me,” Crowley snapped, shoving the angel away from him. “It’s just too hot, and it stinks. Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>France</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly staggered away, hoping to gain some distance from the angel before the next part came, but of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale would start acting like himself again. Aziraphale followed at his heels, fussing. Crowley swatted at him, swore, and snarled until he couldn’t fight it any longer. He tripped into a fence and finally pitched forward, crying out in agony. His body tried to vomit, but Crowley hadn’t eaten anything in three weeks. All he’d had today was some watered down wine several hours ago. His body didn’t care about these logistics though and strained around the void in his stomach anyway, heaving painfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you drunk?” Aziraphale asked, confused. Crowley couldn’t answer, the tendons in his jaw stretched to aching around another agonizing spasm. It seemed to go on forever, until every muscle from his pelvis up had abandoned his command in open revolt.  He sucked in a shuddering breath and collapsed into the dirt, spitting and groaning. Aziraphale sighed and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Crowley peered up at him helplessly, begging him to leave him alone, hoping that he wouldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on now,” the angel chided gently. “Let me help you to your lodgings. You can sleep this off there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M’not drunk,” Crowley protested, but he didn’t fight the strong arms pulling him up. He leaned bodily against the angel and directed him to the house he was staying at. This was the most he and Aziraphale had ever touched. It somehow felt more taboo than the whole of The Arrangement, but Crowley couldn’t seem to summon the strength to manage on his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pain in his ribs was starting to burn and he felt feverish. He’d never felt feverish before. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He felt himself sweating, his shirt sticking to his spine, his curls cloying against his forehead. He desperately wanted to throw his spectacles away but managed to belay that impulse at the last minute. He couldn’t control the shaking. The trembling in arms and hands, where Aziraphale was gripping him, couldn’t have gone unnoticed. Aziraphale was cooing at him. Crowley didn’t understand the words over the drumming of his heart, the wheezing of his choking breath. He must have looked terribly weak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weak and </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, since the angel believed this to be self-inflicted and Crowley could hardly tell him otherwise. That air of cool nonchalance that Crolwey had been trying to cultivate over the years was being thoroughly undone as his body tried its bloody damndest to turn itself inside out. It was going to take ages before he’d properly be able to fluster the angel again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” Aziraphale murmured softly, helping Crowley climb onto the cot he had for a bed. He pulled the thin blanket up over the demon. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Crowley snapped. “Piss off!” he curled up into a ball away from the bloody angel. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault this was happening. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t supposed to be using miracles to rescue humans from execution. That was an angel’s bloody job. He was being punished for interfering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His side doesn’t send rude notes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Aziraphale huffed, sounding hurt. “Very well then. I’ll leave you to it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slammed and Crowley winced in alarm at the sound. He tried to roll his eyes at Aziraphale’s dramatic exit, but doing so only made him dizzy. The room spun and rocked around him and he gripped the edge of his cot with white knuckles, desperately trying not to get thrown off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sounds outside the room were all too loud, directionless. Every footstep sounded like a boom. The floor was shaking and for a heart stopping moment, Crowley wondered if Paris was being smited by God's wrath like Gomorrah. Did Heaven really hate rebellion that much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would it surprise Crowley if they did? He heard beating wings. Pigeons? Or angels? He bit his lip bloody to keep from screaming out in panic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only with some relief that he finally realized it wasn’t the floor shaking, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The relief was short lived as the shaking was making it more difficult to cling to the bed and the spinning wasn’t slowing down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually exhaustion stilled the quake and Crowley was almost able to reach for sleep when his stomach clenched again and spasmed. The nausea came back several times throughout the night, leaving Crowley heaving around air, gagging and straining to the point of convulsion. When he wasn’t grunting painfully and praying for discorporation, he was shivering and sweating through his clothes, clutching the ratty blanket around him with slick fingers, hallucinating mocking blue eyes and an angry sneer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heaving stopped before dawn, and the fever broke sometime before noon. Crowley stared at the ceiling, too exhausted to even sleep until well past dusk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The most dramatic of his symptoms were gone, but the pain persisted. Crowley recognized the ache in his upper back, now that he was thinking about it, he’d had it for decades.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since the fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was more pronounced now though, and distracting at times. He couldn’t tolerate the distraction of pain. It made him maudlin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A fortunate side effect of being a demon, however, was having access to a rather substantial network of ne'er-do-wells with expertise in all manner of vices. Crowley was particularly interested in the vices that killed pain. He came to the gutters with a coin and the gutters provided relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley considered ending the Arrangement again, giving that it was possibly literally killing him, but as the opium took hold it didn’t seem as crucial anymore. The small jobs. The small jobs were fine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a little sting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it made the angel so happy! And he’d smile with his </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty eyes </span>
  </em>
  <span>and tell him he’d done a good job and was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Crowley would wave it away and snap and snarl, because that’s the role, eh? He was a demon. Demon’s aren’t nice, and don’t like to be told they’re nice by pretty angels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Small jobs only. Easy peasy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if it wasn’t a small job, well...Crowley’d just have to be smarter about it. Have a safe place to get too. Have a pain killer on hand. Have time to recover before reporting back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be all right as long as he was smart about it. After all, the bigger the miracle, the bigger the smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s such a nice smile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opium was plentiful anyway.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Your kudos place a cooling cloth on Crowley's forehead and sing him to sleep.</p><p>Your comments give Aziraphale a Sociology textbook and a stern finger-wag.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Morphine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley manages his condition as best he can as winter begins in London. He has managed to keep himself mostly safe and sane by only agreeing to small blessings as part of his Arrangement over the century. However, a monster lurks in the dark streets, murdering young women and doing something about it could expose Crowley’s secret.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Some mild shaming of addiction/addicts. I in no way think addiction is a joke, personally. </p><p> </p><p>It is October and this pandemic is threatening the holiday I love the most. I will do a Jack the Ripper fic for the ambiance. Sue me :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>London, November 1888</em> </strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The bloody angel was pleased. It had been three years since he had triumphed over Crowley regarding the latest votes on the Reform Act and every time they met at a gentlemen's club and noticed a new member, Aziraphale had to crow about it.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t much skin off Crowley’s nose though, to be honest. He wasn’t the least bit invested in  winning the vote. Downstairs was, obviously, but he’d given it a dishonest go and lost. And a happy Aziraphale had its advantages as well. For one thing, he smiled more, and that seemed to have become a matter of importance to Crowley. It also meant he tended to drop his guard and Crowley was able to advance certain other schemes more readily.</p><p> </p><p>It did have the unfortunate consequence of causing the angel to talk more (and at great length) but Crowley had learned to use these bouts of pontification as an opportunity to tune out and rest his aching brain. Today was a good day for some mild dissociation. The weather had been turning cold quickly and Crowley was particularly sensitive to drafts lately. Even in the cozy overstuffed chair of this ridiculous pompous West End club, Crowley felt distinctly chilled and achy. </p><p> </p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm?” the demon murmured, looking up from his brandy snifter at the angel. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale eyed him sharply and Crowley sat a little straighter. “Dear boy, are you quite all right? Is there something I should know?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley frowned, unsure how much, if any, of his condition the angel may have cottoned on to. He’d been doing a fair job of avoiding the angel but the cold was driving them both indoors like spiders fleeing winter, and this was by far the warmest club.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve lost weight again,” Aziraphale continued. “And you seem, I’m sorry to say, a little dim.”</p><p> </p><p>“M’bored!” Crowley snapped a little too loudly, earning some dirty looks from the aspiring politicians and various bootlicks. Fuck them. “You want me to pay attention? Say something interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale leaned back in his highback chair and frowned at the demon. Crowley slouched again, inwardly wincing at the ache in his lower back.<em> Time to see the doctor again. </em></p><p> </p><p>“What do you make of these murders?” Aziraphale asked, opening the paper and changing the subject. Crowley massaged a cramp out of his thigh and shrugged. “Some bollockless ponce making himself feel grand by slicing up women. Just privilege given hands and a knife.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale leaned forward towards him and Crowley instinctively leaned away.</p><p>“I have to ask,” Aziraphale lowered his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I'd wager you<em> don’t </em>, though,” Crowley hissed, knowing exactly what the bloody angel was about to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“It isn’t <em> you </em>, is it?” he frowned, blue eyes watery with concern. Crowley snarled soundlessly. Every time. Every time humans did something bloody terrible to each other when Crowley happened to be in the area and the angel immediately heaped responsibility at Crowley’s feet.</p><p> </p><p>“No. Not me,” he responded icily. "Sorry to disappoint."</p><p> </p><p>“Only, you’ve taken up lodgings in Whitechapel, if I recall,” Aziraphale continued.</p><p> </p><p>“Boarding houses are cheaper there,” Crowley growled.</p><p> </p><p>“Which is not something you’ve cared about in the past,” Aziraphale pointed out. “You’ve always enjoyed your creature comforts, the same as I have.”</p><p> </p><p>It was true. Crowley would much prefer to stay in where it was warmer and dryer, it would certainly be easier on his aching joints. Ironic then that it was his pain that drove him to that particular district. That was where he got his morphine at the dosage and frequency with which he wanted it. Traveling across London constantly was bothersome, and the poor of Whitechapel were distrustful of outsiders. So he made himself one of them, slithering out of the slums to wear tails as ascots when required.</p><p> </p><p>“Harder to foment amid the comfortable,” Crowley shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know who it is, then?” Aziraphale asked, seemingly content with his answer. “Could you stop them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I don’t know. Should I stop them?” Crowley snarked, still offended. “Seems they’re doing fine work for my side. Shouldn’t you be the one doing the stopping?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley had managed to side step many of the larger jobs in the Arrangement over the last century. He’d snapped up the small blessings to avoid suspicion as long as possible, but ‘bringing a serial killer to justice’ seemed like just the sort of thing to leave him screaming in a gutter.</p><p> </p><p>“Spend my nights wrapped around a fireplace, I’m afraid,” he continued. “But if you want to hunt down this Ripper, I wish you the best of luck for it.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>___________________</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I’ll need more this time,” Crowley told the doctor. He had switched out his expensive suit for layers of wool. He still cut a fine figure but now he looked as threadbare in places as he felt inside. “Willing to pay.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I don’t doubt you are, Mr. Crowley,” Dr, Harrington answered warily. “However I’m terribly afraid I must refuse.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley paused, turned his head slightly and adjusted his glasses. That wasn’t what he expected to hear.  “Refussse?</p><p> </p><p>“Setting aside the fact that I require this medicine for my other patients,” Dr. Harrington frowned nervously. “I believe you have formed an unhealthy attachment. It might be in the best interests of your health to wean you off the morphine.”</p><p> </p><p>“It takes away my pain!” Crowley snarled, smacking the heavy wooden table with his walking stick. “I would suggest my attachment to it to be <em> very </em> healthy! For both of us!”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor cringed. “I could treat you the same as I have before. I cannot increase your dosage at this time, I’m afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>“At this time,” Crowley frowned. “What do you mean, at this time?”</p><p> </p><p>“The police are scrutinizing doctors rather closely at the moment, Mr. Crowley.” the doctor sighed. He wrung his hands in a familiar fussy way and some of Crowley’s ire melted. “They suspect these attacks are perpetrated by a member of my esteemed profession. And while I am quite sure I haven’t been attacking yonge women, I won’t have them pulling my licence over an issue with my scripts.”</p><p> </p><p>“Useless sod,” Crowley growled at him, but he had no choice but to accept the regular amount, sucking his teeth as the medicine entered his skin. He paid for the modest veil to take with him and left already in a better mood, his pain receding and a deep sense of well being spreading warmly through his cold corporation.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re looking more spry, TonTon,” came a cheery voice. Crowley smiled at Mary as she swept up to him in her mostly tidy skirts and only slightly ratty muff. She took his offered arm and he steered her around a suspicious looking puddle. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s the gossip, dear Mary,” he asked lightly. If you wanted to know anything about the real workings of London, you asked a working girl. A warm meat pie and a cup of ale could get Crowley most of the intel he needed to do the bulk of work for Downstairs. "Tell me everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Mary giggled, and patted his cold hand. “Did you hear about the fight down by the quay last night?” she laughed. “You’ll never believe what it was about!”</p><p> </p><p>___________</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The waiter set Crowley's sherry down beside him and not a moment too soon. The demon had just spotted Aziraphale at the coat check. There should be enough time for Crowley to treat his drink before the angel spotted him and started talking.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you," he muttered to the waiter, handing off his empty glass (his <em> second </em> empty glass? His <em> third </em>?). The server hurried off as the demon removed the morphine from his inside pocket and added a couple drops to the liquid. He had it safely tucked away again when Aziraphale sat in his preferred chair and snapped open what appeared to be a Spanish newspaper.</p><p> </p><p>"Crowley," he nodded, in greeting.</p><p> </p><p>"Angel," Crowley drawled, swirling his drink. Aziraphale ordered himself a port and they sat in companionable silence for a while. The angel hummed and snorted quietly to himself as he digested the news with what Crowley suspected to be a colourful inner monologue if the flickers of emotion across the lovely face were any indication. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He enjoyed watching Aziraphale when the angel was completely absorbed in something. He was so focused and intent, a splendid reprieve from being the usual stuffy flibbertigibbet. It gave Crowley an impression of who Aziraphale <em> could </em> be, if he ever happened to become comfortable enough to bloody relax.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale glanced at him over the newspaper and Crowley carefully schooled his face to maintain a neutral expression. One of the myriad good qualities of his dark glasses was that it made his angel-watching less obvious so long as he didn’t give it away with blushing or a sudden turning away. He could pretend that he was looking at just about anything in this general direction. Plausible deniability was Crowley’s best friend. </p><p> </p><p>“Might I inquire as to what you’re reading today, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley marked his page with his finger and held up the cover for inspection. It was Edward Bellamy’s newest novel. Crowley hadn’t been impressed with his previous books, but this one seemed quite promising. If only he could manage to actually read it. Lately he seemed to get stuck reading the same paragraph over and over, constantly losing his place.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah!” Aziraphale seemed interested. “I’ve seen it listed but haven’t read it yet. Are you enjoying it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t take you to be a fan of speculative fiction,” Crowley smirked, side-stepping the question. He usually flew through books, and didn’t need Aziraphale becoming curious about another change in habit. The angel seemed to scrutinize everything about the demon (which was likely part of his job, come to think of it. That thought was simultaneously a relief and a burr.)</p><p> </p><p>“I assure you, dear boy, that my love of literature transcends genre,” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley swallowed hard. <em> That </em>was the smile that changed Crowley’s world every time he saw it. The gentle purse of plush lips, the dimpled cheeks, but more so how it changed the angel’s eyes. They crinkled at the corners and lifted at the brow. And they shone with such contentment, such joy.</p><p> </p><p>No one smiled at Crowley, let alone like <em> that. </em> No one but this stuffy flibbertigibbet. And every time he did, the world ceased to be as cold and meaningless and Crowley felt a pleasant fluttery <em> something-or-other </em> in his guts.</p><p> </p><p>"I ought to let you know that I’m heading down to Spain later this week,” Aziraphale mentioned. Crowley frowned, the fluttering dissipated replaced by the more familiar hollow chill of loneliness.</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t be going by ship, I should hope,” Crowley grumbled. The channel would be particularly challenging this time of year.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I’ll be on a ship, Crowley,” Aziraphale chuckled a little nervously. “How ever else would I reach the continent?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley glanced up from his drink and caught the angel’s look. A couple financiers were seated nearby, and Crowley had not thought to lower his voice. The two men were hiding their smirks, laughing at the ginger idiot who clearly didn’t know where Spain was in relation to England. Crowley sent them both a glare that had them quickly deciding to leave for a round of snooker.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Aziraphale frowned at him. “It’s unlike you to make such a slip.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ng. Yeh,” Crowley shrugged. “Best of luck to you in Spain. How long will you be there, do you reckon?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m honestly not certain,” Aziraphale sighed, still watching Crowley carefully. “Will you be all right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Will I be all right?” Crowley sneered. “What kind of question is that? <em> Will I be all right? </em> Without you, you mean? Are you seriously asking me if <em> I </em> , being who I am, will be all right, without <em> you </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Silly question, I suppose,” Aziraphale frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“Too right,” Crowley agreed emphatically. “Ridiculous.”</p><p> </p><p>“Only you seem a bit <em> off </em>still,” Aziraphale fussed, and Crowley rolled his eyes and scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>“When are you leaving for Spain exactly?” he snapped. “Could it be moved up to right now?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and gave an imperious sniff, and pulled a second paper newspaper out of his bag. Crowley set his book aside and sulked, swirling his drink before swallowing it back in two large gulps. </p><p> </p><p>“Another murder? Good Lord, what is going on with the East Side!” Aziraphale tsked. </p><p> </p><p>“Another working girl?” Crowley frowned. He hadn’t checked today’s paper yet. He’d been so desperate for the warm fire and fine alcohol that he hadn’t bothered to swipe one.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, poor thing,” Aziraphale sighed. “Mary Jane Kelly, it says her name was. May God grant her peace.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley shuddered at the name, blinking twice.</p><p> </p><p>“Mary…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Jane Kelly,” Aziraphale finished, looking over at him again. “My dear, you are white as a sheet. Did you know her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nyeh… not really,” he stammered. He didn’t know <em> any </em> of the Whitechapel folks particularly well, prone to keeping his distance from humans as he was. But he had supped with Mary a number of times and found her not to be a <em> complete </em>waste of skin. She didn’t deserve this sort of fate, that was for certain.</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering if…” Aziraphale lowered his voice, “If you might do me a little favour and just put a stop to all this,” Aziraphale requested. “I meant to look into it myself, I even did a couple tours of the East End streets, but I didn’t turn up anything at all conclusive. And now, I’m afraid, I’m meant to be heading out of the Country…”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley scowled. He wanted to say no. Hell likely was fully supportive of this murder spree and the salacious way the newspapers were reporting it. It was the kind of thing that would fuel nightmares for decades. He’d need a good excuse for ending it. And of course, there was the little matter of debate over how <em> good </em>a deed would this deed be and how much would it hurt him to do it?</p><p> </p><p>Although… a potential way around <em> both </em> problems could be to come at it as an act of vengeance. Hell might not be overly pleased if he killed this ‘Ripper’, but a demon really couldn’t be <em> overly </em>punished for doing such a bad thing as murdering a human. And it would be bad. Evil in fact. No reason for gut-twisting agony if he was doing evil deeds.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Crowley agreed, hiding behind his book again. </p><p> </p><p>Mary would be this killer’s last victim. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>_____________</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Crowley kept his dark intent front and centre in his mind as he stalked the streets of Whitechapel. He would have appeared dangerous and suspect to any onlooker, wrapped in black wool, eyes covered with black glass, the slink of his movements distinctly predatory. He was an evil thing about in the night looking to do evil deeds. Fortunately, there were no onlookers. The streets were unusually empty and the demon had chosen to hide himself from mortal eyes, just in case.</p><p> </p><p>Because he was stalking prey. He was going to <em> murder </em> a human tonight. Perfectly evil. Evil <em> evil </em> demon about to do an evil thing. He slithered, even on two legs, sliding down alleys and peering in the windows of warehouses. He listened. He tasted the air.</p><p>He started to get cold and worse, he started to get <em> bored</em>.</p><p>His hips ached from all the walking and his back begged for a hot soak. He had been ignoring the pain for three hours and was finally starting to think there wouldn’t be any murdering tonight after all and perhaps he <em> ought </em>to go rest up and try again later.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, that would be when he noticed the shadows of two people moving off the dark street into another darker alley. Crowley shook his head, confused as to how he had missed two people walking along the very street he was on. He was further confused to find himself crouched against the wall, holding his cloak tightly around himself as he shivered feverishly.</p><p> </p><p><em> Blimey </em> . He’d been daydreaming about a hot bath and then… <em> he didn’t remember </em> . His feet had taken him here while he had been in a daze. He shook his head again, trying to clear his mind of this infernal fog. He was so very <em> cold </em>. His hips hurt and his back was aching too. A nice hot bath would be just the ticket…</p><p> </p><p>He was doing it again. <em> Wait </em> . Wasn’t he meant to be doing something? <em> Bollocks! Right! </em>He had evil to do!</p><p> </p><p>Crowley lurched upright and rushed to the mouth of the alley in time to see a finely dressed man leaning threateningly over a prostitute. Crowley narrowed his eyes and waited. Wealthy men taking prostitutes in a Whitechapel alley wasn’t suspicious in and of itself, so he waited and watched.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Penknife.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There it was. The man drew the weapon out of his cloak and brought back his elbow, ready to thrust it into the poor woman’s belly. Ready to take out his anger, his disgust, his ugly rich privilege on this innocent woman who was only taking these risks out of necessity. Because being destitute necessitated the irony of risking your own survival in order to survive.</p><p> </p><p>The elbow bent back, the strike readied, and Crowley <em> moved </em>. It was over in an instant. A streak of black, a yank backwards, a snap of the neck. The woman was safe.</p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck </em> , he meant that <em> the Ripper was dead! Evilly revenged to death! </em> That was the point of this! Murdering humans evilly like an evil being would— <em> shitshitshitSHIT! </em></p><p> </p><p>Distracted. He’d been so distracted all night. He was supposed to be focused on the point of all this, but he’d forgotten, thinking about bathtubs of hot water and then thinking about another pretty young thing cut up for a rich man’s pleasure and he’d <em> acted on the wrong fucking thing! </em></p><p> </p><p>And it occurred to him, now that it was too late to stop what was coming, that he had no way of knowing how many others he had saved when he saved this woman. Certainly the Ripper wasn’t going to stop on his own. If anything he was getting bolder. How many more would he have killed before he was finally caught? </p><p> </p><p><em>None</em> <em>now</em>, Crowley’s brain mocked him. You saved them. The angel will be so pleased with you.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” he croaked as his throat began to burn. His head throbbed and his vision spotted over again. The cold was spreading fractals of ice inside his marrow. He staggered against the frigid brick wall and slid to the slushy ground. The woman he had rescued gasped in surprise, either at the sudden death of her john or at the agonized moan from the demon’s lips, who’s to say?</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley?” she gasped, trying to pull him out of the half-frozen muck. He looked up into blue eyes that seemed to shine despite the night’s gloom, and Crowley laughed mirthlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s you,” he sucked in a ragged breath before laughing again. His guts twisted anyway because the deed had been <em>good</em> even if the woman hadn’t even been in actual danger. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and shed his enticingly beautiful female form for his usual enticingly beautiful male one. He easily lifted the demon into his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley, you are not well,” the angel chided. “What is God’s Name, is wrong with you? Tell me the truth!”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Crowley spat, trying to sound snide and menacing but only managing weak petulance before immediately coughing up a glob of bloody vomit onto the angel’s pristine shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Ha!” he managed, because it served the angel right. “What are you even doing here? You told <em> me </em>to take care of the monster and I did! You’re meant to be in Spain!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m meant to be in Spain at the end of the week,” Aziraphale corrected, his eyes aglow with concern and not even sparing a glance at how Crowley had just stained his coat. “And I shall be there in a snap when I choose. I wanted to do what I could to stop these killings before I left. The way you’ve been acting lately, I’m afraid I wasn’t sure you’d be up for it”</p><p> </p><p>“But you— <em> Augh </em>! Shit!” he closed his eyes as another viscous spasm nearly caused him to fling himself out of Aziraphale’s arms. The angel stumbled slightly against the wall and gripped Crowley tighter against his chest. Crowley panted loudly, unable to continue speaking. He slapped desperately at his pocket until he found the vial of morphine and pulled the stopper with his teeth. Fuck fretting over dosage. He’d take the whole sodding thing! He no longer cared if he discorporated!</p><p> </p><p>“What is that?” Aziraphale nagged, easily shifting Crowley’s skinny body into the cradle one arm and pressing his hand over the demon’s lips before he could quaff the vial. Crowley glared at the angel, snowflakes dotting his vision as they landed to melt on his glasses. His breath came rapidly through his nose, blowing hot puffs against Aziraphale’s fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Opiates?” Aziraphale blinked at Crowley, looking for a moment like a blonde curly haired owl. “Why in Heaven’s name would you need—” </p><p> </p><p>As if on cue another spasm whipped up Crowley’s spine and <em> this </em> time he <em> did </em>unbalance the angel. His spine contracted painfully, forcing him to arch his head backwards until he was bent nearly in half in the angel’s loosening grip. Aziraphale grabbed at him desperately as they both fell sideways into the slush, mud and frozen piss splashing up around them. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale dropped the vial. Crowley saw it fall, contents spilling out in slow motion. He tracked the precious drops with more concern than he felt about his own cold and messy landing.</p><p> </p><p>Then the back of his skull connected with the cobbles and he heard an angel swear for the first time before the cold took him away into oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>____________</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley drifted toward consciousness to the smell of antiseptics and metal. His body felt heavy and numb, his head felt completely full of sand. It was hard to breathe and his tongue felt like it was coated in ash. He could taste his own bile. He wanted to panic but his body and his brain couldn’t seem to manage it.</p><p> </p><p>“...just wish I understood. It doesn’t make any sense at all,” a familiar voice was saying. The angel? The angel was here? Crowley tried to open his eyes and found a bright light shining down on him causing the numbness to subside into nausea so he shut them again tightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Blurgh…” he gagged, almost bringing up another glob of something distasteful but managed to swallow it back down. Good thing too. He wasn’t sure he could move enough to turn his head and discorporating from choking on his own vomit would get him all manner of ridicule downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy dear,” the angel cooed. Crowley felt a brief soft touch of warm fingers on his brow. He memorized the touch immediately, damn his brain.</p><p> </p><p>“Your friend is badly undernourished,” a stranger was saying. “Which is congruent with the signs of excessive opiate use.”</p><p> </p><p>“But he isn’t a...an… <em> addict </em>,” Aziraphale scoffed, and Crowley felt his cheeks flush with humiliation. Had the bloody angel taken him to a hospital? He had! Of all the ludicrously stupid— </p><p> </p><p>“I do not wish to disrespect your friend, dear sir,” the other man replied with the flat professionalism of a doctor used to arguing with the ill-informed and the emotional. “However I have performed a thorough exam and I see no clear signs of trauma or obvious illness aside from what I have told you.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thorough exam?! Hell was going to skin him! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you have performed admirably,” Aziraphale retorted in a tone that suggested he believed no such thing. “But one does not convulse and scream and vomit because they are peckish.”</p><p> </p><p>“They do not,” the doctor agreed, sounding churlish now. “They <em> can </em>do from opiate withdrawal. It can be quite excruciating and should only be performed under medical supervision.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you —”</p><p> </p><p>“I have given you my diagnosis, Sir,” the doctor stated. “You are welcome to take your friend home and seek another doctor’s council if you wish. Keep him warm and dry and give him fluids until then. Good day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hell of a bedside manner,” Crowley groaned after he heard a door slam.</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, Crowley,” Aziraphale sounded exasperated and...something else. Something softer, a tone that Crowley couldn’t identify. He wished he could open his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Dim the bloody light, would you?” he demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“I shall not, as the ‘bloody light’ is the flaming <em>sun </em>,” the angel grumbled, but Crowley heard the rasp of curtain rungs and the light was indeed dimmed somewhat.</p><p> </p><p><em> Daylight? </em> How long had Crowley been asleep? Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley didn’t even flinch at the sound. An angel using his power right beside his head for an unknown purpose and Crowley didn’t even flinch.</p><p> </p><p>Might be that he was in a bad way. </p><p> </p><p>“'<em>Asleep’ </em> may not be the most apt choice of words,” Aziraphale chided, suggesting Crowley had spoken his query instead of merely thinking it. “You have been <em> delirious </em>for five hours, dear boy. You had me in a right panic. I was forced to seek medical advice when I was unable to heal you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Must have performed a number of unsanctioned miracles to keep them from noticing my <em> eyes </em> ,” Crowley snarled. None of this would have happened if the angel had <em> told </em> him he was going to take care of the Ripper after all. It was his fault.</p><p> </p><p>“A couple, yes. And I’m quite cross with you about it too,” Aziraphale grumbled. “The doctor wasn’t particularly helpful but he did give you something that seemed to have calmed down your tremors.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yyyyeah,” Crowley tried to nod. “I can tell.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve just sent for a carriage. I’ll bring you back to mine and you can rest there for the remainder of the week,” Aziraphale informed him, his voice firm as if Crowley would argue. He supposed he <em> ought </em>to argue, out of pride or concern for appearances, or just to be obstinate. The truth was that Crowley couldn’t bring himself to care where he was taken at the moment. He felt like a vaguely human-shaped sandbag. The angel could care for him, or smite him, or use him to stop up flood water. He wasn’t going to argue.</p><p> </p><p>He swam in and out of consciousness for a bit, hearing snippets of conversation, being jostled now and then. He smelled horses, and snow, and wood polish. Then wood smoke and fresh bread and butter and tea.</p><p> </p><p>He was lying in a warm bed, wearing a fine night shirt and wrapped in blankets. Aziraphale propped him up against what felt to be every last pillow in London, and helped him take a sip of hot tea. It flowed over his tongue delivering heat and the sweetness of honey. Crowley moaned loudly before he could stop himself. That particular mouthful of tea was better than sex.</p><p> </p><p>“Good Lord, Crowley. It is just tea,” Aziraphale snickered, pretending to be scandalized. The irony of Aziraphale being scandalized by someone making orgasmic sounds over food was staggering, but Crowley managed to bite his tongue. The angel brought the cup back to the demon’s lips and Crowley sipped again, quietly this time. Aziraphale fed him buttered toast and helped him sip hot tea until the plate and the pot were both empty. They watched each other silently the whole time, both holding their own council, the air thick with tension and unanswered questions.</p><p> </p><p>There was a silence then that stretched to the very last edge of what could be considered merely <em> uncomfortable </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p> </p><p>“S’nothing, Angel,” Crowley muttered. “Don’t make a fuss.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you bothering with <em> opiates </em>though, my dear?” the angel asked, intent on making a fuss anyway. “Surely if you suffered from some sort of injury you could just wish it away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do we sometimes get plastered on wine?” Crowley growled. “‘Cause it’s bloody fun. ‘Cause it feels good. ‘Cause we’re horribly eternally <em> bored </em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“I see,” Aziraphale whispered. “And the… the pain?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a demon thing,” Crowey replied quickly. “Nothing you can do ‘bout it.” This was technically true on both counts, although slightly more true of the former than the latter.</p><p> </p><p>“Is Hell punishing you for something?” Aziraphale sounded aghast at the thought, as if Hell weren’t literally punishing someone for something at all times. As if that weren’t the total and complete <em> purpose </em>of Hell.</p><p> </p><p>“S’personal,” Crowley sighed, tired. It was hard to focus and he had to be so careful with his words. “Nothing to do with you.”</p><p> </p><p>A lie, then. An actual bold faced lie. It shouldn’t matter to Crowley that he just lied to the angel. Lying was expected of a demon, especially to one’s hereditary enemy. And yet, Crowley very seldom actually lied to Aziraphale. It had become almost a game of sorts to hide his agendas without resorting to lies. He told himself it was a mental exercise to keep himself his wits about him while around the angel.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t possibly be out of fear of disappointing the pretty thing.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you be all right?” Aziraphale asked him again. “When I go to Spain, will you be all right on your own?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley peered at Aziraphale and blinked. He was all at once aware that his glasses had been removed and distracted by that fact. The angel was the only other being in the room with him, but he needed his eyes hidden. They were monstrous things for one, and they had a unhappy habit of betraying him, for another. He spied them on the bedside table and hastily put them on.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I really <em>must</em> go, I’m afraid, but now…” Aziraphale continued, wringing his hands and stalking over to the fireplace, his back turned towards the bed-ridden demon. “Well, I confess that I’m loath to leave you all alone.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley shifted his slight weight in the mammoth billowing bed. The softness and warmth felt immensely good against his back but the dull ache in his hip gnawed at the periphery of his awareness, waiting for the drugs to leave his system. It was a testament to the strength and audacity of that ache that it could be registered at all beneath Crowley’s shock at Aziraphale’s confession. </p><p> </p><p>In all the years he’d known the angel, even after the Arrangement, Aziraphale had been more than happy to take his leave as soon as possible without ever so much as looking over his shoulder. They were civil in each other’s company, they always had been, but a careful distance had always been maintained, and Aziraphale was the one who maintained it. Crowley was a demon, after all. Fallen. Damned. Generally understood to not be worth the angel’s time. And now Aziraphale didn’t want to leave Crowley alone?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m always alone, Angel,” Crowley muttered, staring at the way the firelight danced in those ash-blonde curls. “That’s just the way it is.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale turned to him, and his large sea-blue eyes seemed ever so sad as he nodded. He gave Crowley a soft farewell, took up his hat, and left. Crowley sank down into the pillows and watched the fire as the ache began its glacier-slow climb back into his awareness. It was just the way it was, he had assured the angel. </p><p> </p><p>Even when the angel was around, Crowley was still very much alone.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Your kudos give Crowley some more fluffy pillows and lovingly call him "TonTon". Your comments stoke the fire and bring him more tea and toast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Heroine/Nicotine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley makes some much needed changes to his pain control regimen after a slip up in London gives him a scare. Aziraphale seems to be getting suspicious too, Now, in the middle of the Big Freeze of 1955, Crowley plans out his new approach, and the next steps he’ll need to take to get what he wants.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Mention of overdose, Heroin epidemic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Hell, Corporation Bureau, January 1955</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The needle was starting to itch and Crowley couldn't help but glare at it. He wouldn't be allowed to remove it from his arm until he had his review. The imp sitting across from him snickered at him and tapped her clipboard. </p><p> </p><p>"Careless, Crawly," she tittered. </p><p> </p><p>"Crowley," he corrected, annoyed. He despised this song and dance. The paperwork alone was a bloody nightmare and this smirking little toad—who knew full well what his name was by the way— had to go lay it on thick with the questions before he faced the <em> review committee. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Look, s’not ideal but these things happen when you’re out in the world, bendin’ people to vice,” he sneered, wincing when his wild gesticulating caused the embedded syringe to pull at his skin. He quickly tucked his arm back at his side. He supposed he should be grateful for the mountain of paperwork really. Discorporation always left him feeling a bit muzzy and having shuffled off the mortal coil absolutely stoned out of his gourd didn’t make that any easier. He needed his wits about him. This imp, while obnoxious, wasn’t a threat. The arseholes in that room behind him were. </p><p> </p><p>He thumbed the little piece of paper in his good hand, the number on it another grand insult. 1. He was the only one waiting for a body, and yet he’d been waiting on this uncomfortable chair for what felt like days and could well have been weeks!</p><p> </p><p>“While I’m stuck down here watching you grin at me with what you’ve sadly mistaken for as teeth, there is an angel up there undoing all my bad work,” he grumbled. “Can we hurry this along please?”</p><p> </p><p>________________</p><p> </p><p>“What is Heroin?” the first demon asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Female hero, isn’t it?” the second replied.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s stupid. That can’t be right,” the third argued.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a bloody strong drug!” Crowley shouted over them. Fucking Heavenly Choir he hated these damn reviews. “It’s opium. You know what that bloody is by now, yeah? It’s that only better. They keep making it stronger and —”</p><p> </p><p>“So why did it discorporate you?” the first demon leaned back in her seat, staring down at him with contempt. “You’re meant to be tempting the humans into this rubbish, not killing <em> yourself </em>with it.”</p><p>“Well...clearly took a bit too much this time,” he grumbled. He was hazy on the details about how he had died, and that wasn’t good. The last time he was in front of the committee his case was much easier to explain. He was scaring villagers in his serpent form trying to whip up some good old fashioned witch hysteria when he got stepped on by a startled horse. The committee had a good long laugh at him, approved the new body, and sent him on his way.</p><p> </p><p>“We are familiar with opium,” the second demon huffed. “Humans trying to escape their pain or escape their problems. Addictive, and seductive. We <em> like </em> that very much. But why are <em> you </em> using it? The human who died just before you did wasn’t on our list of targets. Why risk discorporation to kill him?”</p><p> </p><p>“He wasn’t,” the third demon sneered. She was the worst. Dagon. She was the one who would end him if he wasn’t very clever. “He didn’t need to tempt that human into anything. He was already well and truly hooked. Crowley was using this drug for his own purposes.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley swallowed, and finally plucked the needle from his arm. “Yeh, this obviously didn’t go to plan, but I need to <em> really </em>understand this stuff in order to best tempt people eh? I think this drug is going to be huge in the next couple decades. Gonna get its hooks into some really influential folk. Just wait.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you were doing...research?” Dagon didn’t seem convinced.</p><p> </p><p>“You know I’m good at my job,” Crowley hissed. “You’ve seen my reports. You’ve seen my commendations. They love me here! This is how I stay ahead of that angel. He wouldn’t ever sully himself with the dirty work.” </p><p> </p><p>The judges murmured to themselves and nodded. Crowley could usually get control of conversations in Hell by bringing up his adversary. Most demons hadn’t seen an angel since before they had Fallen. Aziraphale was basically the boogeyman down here. </p><p> </p><p>“Clever,” the first demon nodded. “Gotta keep ahead of the other side. Use whatever weapons we can.”</p><p> </p><p>“So this isn’t about your pain at all?” Dagon asked knowingly, and Crowley felt a cold wave of dread wash over him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wot pain?” he snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Your aura is all torn up, Crowley,” Dagon smiled viciously. Crowley flinched, flicking his gaze to the other judges who were now looking at him with more <em> metaphysical </em>scrutiny. “How did you get injuries like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sss’part of the job,” Crowley hissed, drawing himself up. “The work isn’t exactly safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“The angel did this to you?” the second demon asked, eyes wide with horror. Crowley frowned. If he made it through this he was going to have to be a lot more careful with his medicines.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he responded firmly. “This is all from Aziraphale.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>_______________</strong>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Manchester, February 1955</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>There were basic truths about Crowley that he’d come to terms with a long time ago. He was a demon of impeccable style. He enjoyed his comfort, and he really hated the cold.</p><p> </p><p>So he could only assume he was being punished by the powers that be for trashing his previous corporation. That was the only reason he could see for them sending him upstairs to bloody Manchester in the middle of what had to be the worst snow storm of the century with the simple command “foment”. </p><p> </p><p>He absolutely despised foment missions. It wasn’t so much the open-endedness he hated. He fancied himself a creative sort and enjoyed a chance to stretch his wings, but fomenting never happened amongst the happy or comfortable for obvious reason. No. Now he had to find some poor sods having a bad time and make their lives worse. And he was going to be cold, uncomfortable and bundled in ugly layers of goose down doing it.</p><p> </p><p>“Wot I’m saying is,” Crowley muttered, passing another pint over to the bloke beside him at the bar. “Wot I’m <em> saying </em>is if you’re not getting anywhere with your bosses, right? Or your bosses boss, for that matter… well… you and the boys could always take matters into your own hands, you know? Power in numbers and all that. They need you a lot more than you need them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not how they see it,” the man groused. “I should be grateful I have a job at all, he tells me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, ‘course he would,” the demon smirked. “Cause if you’re happy with scraps then why’d he have to give you anything better?”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley?” A cheerful plummy voice announced behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“Bollocks,” Crowley grumbled to himself and pretended not to hear, hunching his shoulders and nursing his ale.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe the pansy was talking to <em> you </em>, lad,” the worker elbowed him. </p><p> </p><p>“Neh,” he grunted, but it was too late and Aziraphale slid onto the stool beside him, grinning ear to ear. The worker, clearly unimpressed with the angel’s accent, took his leave. Crowley swore under his breath and tossed back the whole pint, opening his throat and letting it all drop right down in one big swallow. He immediately summoned another one before turning to the angel.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you mind?” Crowley snapped at the irritating blonde. “I’m trying to work here, and these people hear your ridiculous voice and run for the hills.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, pish. What’s wrong with my voice,” Aziraphale huffed. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you even doing here?” Crowley grumbled. “The storm has closed most of the roads. I figured you’d have been tucked away safe and warm in your bookshop.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was looking for you, actually,” the angel admitted. I heard a terrible rumour and I had to come check up on you. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“What rumour?” Crowley felt cold. Was this about the Arrangement? Had they been found out? Shit! This was exactly why he wanted that Holy water! Stubborn obstinate angel. Crowley should have let him meet his end in that bloody church. It would serve him right and would have been much easier on his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“They found…” Aziraphale lowered his voice. “They found a <em> snake </em>in a warehouse on the East end and…”</p><p> </p><p>“A snake?” Crowley snarled, feeling both furious and relieved at the same time. “We don’t all know each other, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I realize that, dear,” Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “As I was saying they found a snake, an <em> unidentifiable </em> snake as it happens. A new <em> discovery </em>. It was going to cause quite the stir in herpetological circles I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you really track me down in a fucking blizzard to tell me about some bloody snake?” Crowley growled, knowing where this was heading and hoping to stall until he could think up a way out of it.</p><p> </p><p>“I did,” Aziraphale murmured. “Because as it happens, I had an opportunity to take a look at this poor creature, posing as an expert in the field.”</p><p> </p><p>“You really must have been bored,” Crowley grumbled. </p><p> </p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p> </p><p>“Angel?”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to tell me why your serpent form was abandoned in a warehouse— ?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really,” Crowley interrupted. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me anyway,” Aziraphale demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“Shed it,” Crowley suggested. “Sssnake thing. We shed.”</p><p> </p><p>“You shed it,” Aziraphale repeated slowly. He looked very annoyed now. “You <em> shed </em> your entire corporation? Forgive me, but I don’t think that is the sort of shedding snakes typically do, Crowley.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a typical snake, am I?” Crowley snickered. This is where he realized he might have been a bit past drunk if he’d forgotten Aziraphale had actually seen the body. He lit his cigarette and took a drag.</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley, what happened to you in that warehouse?” Aziraphale pestered him. </p><p> </p><p>“Obviously I reverted to my snake form before…”he drew a finger across his throat and stuck his tongue out. “And apparently the demons in charge of collecting the trash weren’t looking for a snake and decided to shirk off their responsibility…” he rolled his eyes. “Not the smartest crew really.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really not going to tell me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, it's been 14 years since I last saw you, and nearly 80 before that,” Crowley whispered. “And you made your feelings about our Arrangement extremely clear. I don’t owe you any explanation about what I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley, you saved my li—”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut it,” Crowley hissed and Aziraphale flinched, pinching his lips together. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s just that… what happened at the church rather muddied the waters for me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted. “And the thought that you might have discorporated alone in a warehouse not far from where I was likely reading a good book, well…”</p><p> </p><p>“S’nothing to do with you, Angel,” Crowley sighed, hating how the lie was getting easier each time he said it. “What happened with my body then?”</p><p> </p><p>“I used a minor miracle to convince them it was a common red bellied black snake likely escaped from some irresponsible collector.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley nodded. </p><p> </p><p>“I do hope you know that you could call on me if you ran into trouble,” Aziraphale whinged. Crowley rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you changed your mind about what we discussed in 1862?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not, Crowley,” Aziraphale chided. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t— “</p><p> </p><p>“Sod off then and let a demon get plastered in peace, will ya?” he spat before blowing a plume of smoke at the angel.</p><p> </p><p>“You are incorrigible,” Aziraphale grumbled, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your work being a misery to everyone around you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes!” Crowley put his hands together in a mockery of prayer. “Thank you Lord.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale glared at him and had the absolute audacity to look hurt. After all these thousands of years of Crowley being exactly the way he always was — exactly the <em> demon </em> he was—  and Aziraphale still makes those sad eyes at him.</p><p> </p><p>As if he is <em> still </em> surprised at being disappointed. </p><p> </p><p>And it shouldn't matter to Crowley. Those sad eyes shouldn't make the ache in his bones <em> worse </em>. It shouldn't. It really bloody shouldn't.</p><p> </p><p>But of course, Crowley was always going to be the biggest disappointment to himself.</p><p> </p><p>"How long's this storm gonna go on, d'you reckon?" he asked lightly as the angel turned away. Crowley always shoved the angel away and then reeled him back in. Another one of Crowley’s bad habits and neither of them should be surprised by it anymore either. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale paused and sighed and sat back down and Crowley hid his smile in his pint and summoned one for the angel.</p><p> </p><p>"They're calling it the big freeze," Aziraphale responded. His voice was quiet, but he didn't look to be angry at the change of subject. Perhaps he accepted it as the price of continuing their conversation (which indeed it was). He wasn't pleased though, and those sad eyes never lifted to meet Crowley's unblinking gaze again as he sipped the lager. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley winced at another ache in his hip and pulled out a fresh cigarette. Aziraphale took out a pack of his own.</p><p> </p><p>"You should be careful of that stuff," Crowley smiled, catlike. "Nicotine is very addictive."</p><p> </p><p>"They say it isn't that bad," Aziraphale passed the cigarette to Crowley who lit it for him with a tiny flame from his thumb. Probably reckless, Crowley didn't check to see if anyone was watching. The few humans who managed to get here in this weather we're already drunk and miserably wrapped in their own affairs. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley pulled the smoke into his mouth, watching the glow brightening at the tip of the cigarette before he took it from his lips and passed it back. He watched with rapt attention as Aziraphale brought it to his own lips. It was agonizingly intimate. Crowley wanted to do it again and again.</p><p> </p><p>“They're one of ours, you know?" he said instead. Aziraphale finally looked up at him, blue eyes dimmed behind the curl of smoke between them. "The nicotine lobby," Crowley clarified. "Big tobacco too. Not <em> all </em>tobacco, but the push behind it, you know. That's all ours."</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale sighed, pulled another drag and let it out slowly before deliberately making a show of snuffing the cigarette in the ashtray. A moment later the angel wordlessly passed his pack of smokes to Crowley who pocketed it.</p><p> </p><p>"The RAF is delivering supplies to the communities cut off by the storm," Aziraphale continued as if they'd never stopped discussing the weather. "That's how bad it is in parts. Trains aren't running. Roads are blocked."</p><p> </p><p>"Roads, right," Crowley nodded, absently. "Shame."</p><p> </p><p>"I.. best be off," Aziraphale muttered then. "Now that I know you're all right. Best not to linger."</p><p> </p><p>'Back to London?" <em> Don’t go yet. Have another drink with me. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Always." He wrapped his tartan scarf around his throat and left without another word. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley waited another hour before venturing out into the cold. He stared down the abandoned street, turning his back to the wind and snow. It really <em> was </em> a bloody terrible storm. Several communities would be cut off for a while from all this snow. Crowley knew the supplies the RAF would be bringing would be more than food staples and water. It would be much needed medical supplies and medicines.</p><p> </p><p>Pain medication, for example. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn't be faulted for clearing a few roads here and there as long as he helped himself to a bottle or two, right? It was a selfish endeavour. No need to be afraid of it.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, maybe the ill-effects of good deeds had run its course. He'd managed to avoid doing much in the name of the Arrangement for the better part of a century, so long as you don't count that bit during the bombings… </p><p>And it <em> didn't </em> seem to count, oddly enough. He'd braced himself for a world of pain, positive that if anything was going to have him discorporate from pure, utter agony it would be saving the angel.</p><p> </p><p>But nothing. <em> Singed feet</em>, obviously. But there was a clear cause and effect <em> there </em> . It wasn't a punishment for doing the right thing so much as the usual shit luck that comes with being a demon. <em> They </em> <b> <em>would</em> </b> <em> have to meet in a bloody church!  </em></p><p> </p><p>Crowley closed his eyes, uttered a silent prayer (to whom he still didn't know, but Crowley prayed often) then he snapped, ensuring several roads had lighter snow over the next 48 hours. <em> Selfish </em>. He thought about those beautiful pills. The delightful chalky crunch between his teeth. The alkaline taste filling his mouth, the grittiness as he swished it around his teeth with a mouthful of whiskey or fortified wine. </p><p> </p><p>He definitely wasn't thinking about the kids in some of those rural hospitals. He <em> made sure </em>not to think about them and he continued not to think about them as he limped home to his flat.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn't as large as his penthouse in Mayfair, just a space he managed to find for let that met his current needs for however long he'd be fomenting in Northern England. It was warm and dry and posh enough to soothe his nerves. </p><p> </p><p>He started a fire in the hearth with a snap and sank into his overstuffed chair with a groan. His temples were already throbbing, and it hurt to swallow. It wasn't as bad as he'd had it in the past, but the deed hadn't been as directly good either so this was on par with what he'd been expecting.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> would </em> nick those pills. He was honest with himself about his intentions, he thought. It just wasn't enough. Because he could have nicked the pills without clearing the roads. Because people would get help because he'd done it. Because he might have thought about those kids a little. </p><p> </p><p>Or sad blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Sssshit," Crowley groaned, rubbing his temples vigorously before grabbing the cigarette package out of his coat pocket and selecting one of the angel's smokes.</p><p>He lit it and sighed, the nicotine already subverting some of his discomfort. Just the feel of the cigarette in his fingers, between his lips. </p><p> </p><p>Between <em> Aziraphale's </em>lips. They could have touched the angel's lips, but they were his now. Milder than he preferred, but he was considering switching brands now. There was something about the image, the slow drag between plush lips, held by manicured fingers…</p><p> </p><p>He'd no doubt ruined smoking for Aziraphale, but Crowley loved it. Couldn't ever see giving it up. Such a convenient little vice, and it really did help him clear his mind. A pill, a drink, a smoke. It took the edge off the ache but it kept him sharp, unlike… the other things he'd tried.</p><p>It wasn't perfect at killing the pain but it wouldn't leave him dead in a warehouse to be fawned over by scientists either. He couldn’t see it ever going out of style either! Eventually it would be discovered that leaders in the industry had lied about the health effects of nicotine and smoking both, but it wouldn’t really matter. There would be steep fines, but any crime punishable by fines merely meant it was perfectly legal for the wealthy. You had to love Capitalism. </p><p> </p><p>So, this was going to be his method of pain control from now on. A pill, a drink, a smoke. It wasn’t perfect but it kept him sharp, a compromise he was willing to make, especially now. Aziraphale claimed that night of the church bombing changed things for him, although Crowley had forgotten to ask exactly what could possibly have changed. It certainly changed things for Crowley though with two grand discoveries, and he needed to think those discoveries through carefully.</p><p> </p><p>First, that churches had scads of Holy water just lying around unattended that Crowley could just <em> take </em> if only he had the means.</p><p> </p><p>Secondly, saving the angel hadn't caused so much as a twinge of pain.</p><p> </p><p>And now that he was sharper, it occurred to Crowley that when he had freed Aziraphale that day from the Bastille, he hadn't suffered any pain either. It wasn't until he miracled the <em> human </em> out of harm's way that the agony came on and kicked him in the teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"Humans," Crowley muttered under his breath. "I can lend a hand getting the bloody angel out of harm's way, but the second I lift a finger to help one of your precious humans, You burn me down."</p><p> </p><p>It didn't make any sense to him. He smoked half the remaining package of cigarettes trying to puzzle it out before he gave up.</p><p> </p><p>Easier to turn his attention to getting the Holy water then. Honestly, at this point, the potential risk of dissolving felt a great deal safer to him than thinking overly much about Aziraphale anyway. He’d find a way to get what he wanted. He’d keep himself stocked with the supplies he needed to manage his condition. He’d keep that bloody fluffy blonde menace at arms length.</p><p>It should be doable. He couldn’t fathom any reason at all he’d need to work closely with the angel ever again.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Your kudos help Crowley draft up collective bargaining strategies for the workers of Manchester.<br/>Your comments anonymously deliver a list of signs of Vicodin addiction to a certain Soho bookseller.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Armageddon looms and Crowley is seriously stressed out. His usual pain regimen isn’t quite doing it anymore so he has started catching his endorphins wherever he can find them.<br/>However, a demon who experiences agony every time they do a substantially good deed would be wise to reconsider saving the world or he is going to be in a world of hurt. Crowley could never be accused of an abundance of wisdom though.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived! The beans get spilled!</p><p>CW: As the title of this chapter has so subtly hinted, there is sex ahead. It isn’t with Aziraphale. It isn’t (imho) explicit enough to earn an E rating, but there are some scenes where sex is happening so if you’re not into that, you need to scroll on down to the bustop scene near the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> London, A fortnight before the end of the world. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Crowley knew it was important to have given the angel his cellular number. He did. But right now he really <em> really </em> wished he hadn't. The call went to ansaphone, there was a ten count of peace and then the mobile rang again.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley groaned, set the back of his head against the brick wall he was leaning against and fished the phone out of his pocket, answering it through gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"Wot!"  he hissed.</p><p> </p><p>"It's me," Aziraphale confessed over the line, as if Crowley should be surprised. The demon put his free arm over his face in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>"I know it's you," he growled. "What do you want."</p><p> </p><p>"I want to meet," the angel told him. "Warlock and his mum are having an outing tomorrow and I thought we might… shadow them a bit… keep an eye on the boy now that we're going into the endgame and all."</p><p> </p><p>"Finefinefine," Crowley snarled impatiently. "Where and when?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well… I'm not sure exactly how to code this but I could—"</p><p> </p><p>"For fucks sake, Aziraphale! <em> Where and when!?" </em></p><p> </p><p>"Dinosaur Park. Let's meet at noon, shall we? That way we will be sure to be there when—"</p><p> </p><p>"DinoParkNoonFineGoodBye!" Crowley slurred, hanging up a couple seconds before moaning loudly as he came. The young man he was with stood and licked his lips. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m impressed,” the man smirked. “But please don’t answer the phone while we’re in the middle of things, man. It's kinda rude.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shaddup,” Crowley hissed, pulling the man in for a rough kiss. He wasn’t going to promise him anything, he was fairly sure he’d never see the bloke again. These distractions had always been few and far between in the past, although Crowley had to admit he’d gone looking for casual hookups quite a bit more often in the past two or three years. </p><p> </p><p> It was the stress, really. The world was ending and one way or another it was going to end badly for Crowley, he just felt it in his bones. The pain had come on with a vengeance over the decade since Warlock had been born. The fucking Antichrist! God(literally)damnit! And it had taken the best of Crowley’s heavily lubricated temptations to get Aziraphale to help him pull this off and he still felt like they <em> hadn’t </em>pulled it off at all.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been stressed, and he was aching all the bloody time. Wearing those heels didn’t help much either. So his regimen of pills, drinks, and smokes had expanded to include some endorphin-producing shags and the result was mostly keeping him upright (when necessary) and proceeding with somewhat forward momentum. </p><p> </p><p>So he dragged this willing subject deeper into the alley to get his rush, then promptly lost the man’s number. The night was long in the tooth and he stank. Time enough to get washed up and have a bit of a rest before listening to the angel spell out all the ways this was going to end horribly for them while Crowley pretended to have it all figured out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>_________</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Have a nice doomsday, </em> ’ he’d said. Those would be his last words to Aziraphale before it all went to shit. <em> ‘Have a nice doomsday </em>.’ Of course, after everything else they’d said at the bandstand there wasn’t really anything left to say, was there? After Aziraphale had laid down the law, told him how it was going to be from now on, the words ‘It’s over’ echoing cavernously in his skull. </p><p> </p><p>It knocked him sideways a bit, that. Go figure. Crowley had been expecting the angel to cut him loose for literal ages but <em> now </em> ? <em> Now </em> ?! <em> He cuts him loose NOW? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Harder,” Crowley growled, desperate to feel something other than crushing defeat. </p><p> </p><p>After everything they’d been through. After all the years, the loneliness, the <em> pain! </em> Aziraphale decided he was going to be the good soldier. And Crowley had turned away and washed his hands of the bloody angel. Good riddance! He was nothing but trouble. Crowley was better off on his own. Time to leave this stupid doomed planet before anything else went wrong. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Have a nice doomsday!’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck!” he choked, clawing at the back of the sofa for purchase as the man behind him drove in harder. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and pretended, just for a moment, it was someone else. Someone better, kinder. Someone who smelled like tea and honey and parchment and rain. It had helped him in the past, but not tonight. Tonight it was too much of a lie.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” he begged without knowing what he was begging for. The pounding increased and his eyes rolled back so maybe that was it. Maybe this would be enough. At least for now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘There is no “our side”’. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘It’s over!’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Have a nice doomsday’. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was over. Centuries of partnership in one way or another, over. The Arrangement, over. All that pain had been for nothing. He’d spent so much time trying to get around it, trying to keep going despite it. And for what? Either Heaven won and he would be destroyed, or Hell won and he would be destroyed or tortured for eternity in punishment for losing the Antichrist. Or, option number three: he escaped, alone… eternally <em> alone </em>without…</p><p> </p><p>“Ssstop,” he groaned. The man behind him made a sound of complaint, but froze, kissing the back of his neck. It made Crowley’s skin crawl. <em> Kissing wasn’t allowed </em>. “This isn’t working for me. Get out.” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you serious?” the man snapped, surprised and angry. </p><p> </p><p>“Get your kit on, and get out,” Crowley hissed, and the man swore at him, but pulled up his trousers, grabbed his shirt and left, slamming the door. Crowley limped into the shower and had himself a nice long panic attack.</p><p> </p><p>Eternity among the stars, <em> alone </em>. Never knowing what happened on Earth. Never knowing what happened to Aziraphale. It was impossible! It was worse than what waited for him at the end of the war. How the blazes was that even possible?</p><p> </p><p>And there, chomping on Vicodin and drinking single malt from the bottle under jets of hot water, Crowley <em> finally </em>let himself admit the real reason behind pretty much everything he had ever done since leaving Eden.</p><p> </p><p>He was in love with the fucking angel.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nothing for it then. He'd have to try at least one more time to convince Aziraphale to go away with him. If he didn't… if we wouldn't...</p><p> </p><p>Crowley moaned to himself, tipping his head back against the tile. “Have a nice doomsday…” </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>—————</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A bus stop outside Tadfield, Doomsday  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (post-Armageddon bench pity-party for two) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do,” Crowley told the heartbroken angel. </p><p>Holy bloody shit, Crowley was tired. He reeked of smoke, had melted a duke of hell, escaped another one (twice), lost his best friend (for lack of a better word), lost his car (shit, that hurt too) and now he was doomed, and so was Aziraphale, but at least it wasn’t raining!</p><p> </p><p>Crowley passed the bottle over to Aziraphale then tapped a couple tablets into his palm before crunching them messily and reaching for the bottle again.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you in pain?” Aziraphale asked, Crowley rolled his head on his shoulder to look at the angel. He looked knackered, and so horrendously sad. Awful. Aziraphale shouldn’t ever look like that. It was just deeply wrong. Aziraphale looked pointedly at the pill container and back to Crowley, prompting him back into action. Crowley tucked the container back in his pocket and took a swig from the bottle.</p><p> </p><p>“Ennngh, I’ll live,” Crowley  shrugged. “At least until tomorrow, eh?” he added with a strained grin. Aziraphale frowned and looked at his hands again.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well. I suspect tomorrow won’t go well for either of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley winced in guilt, and then he winced again in pain as a spasm twisted his hip and caused him to nearly drop the bottle. “Ssshit!” Crowley gasped, dread seeping into his aching bones. “Oh no… we just saved the world. A world full of humans. We just helped save it!”</p><p> </p><p>“We certainly did,” Aziraphale sighed. “And no good deed goes unpunished, as they say.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re telling me!” Crowley yelped, feeling nearly hysterical. He shoved the bottle at Aziraphale and lurched off the bench, trying to flee to <em> somewhere </em> before the real show began. The nausea was already starting, making him light headed, prickles of cold crawling up the sides of his face.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale cried, rushing to Crowley as the demon crashed to the grass, an agonizing scream forcing itself out of his throat as his back twisted violently in another spasm. Panic gripped what remained of the demon’s heart. This was it. He’d helped save the world. There was no greater blessing he could have done and the pain was undoubtedly going to discorporate him this time. He clawed at Aziraphale helplessly, desperately afraid of saying goodbye. Tears fell from the angel’s eyes and Crowley cried out in sorrow as much as agony.</p><p> </p><p>He’d never considered the horror of discorporating in front of Aziraphale. He was going to die and never see the angel again! Worse, Aziraphale wouldn’t understand what happened to him. When Crowley had run into the bookshop, screaming into the flames, he’d felt a deeper terror and grief the likes he’d never experienced before. Would Aziraphale suffer that too?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Angel!” Crowley gasped. “S’my fault. I never told you. S’my fault you didn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“That I didn’t know what?” Aziraphale begged, holding Crowley to his chest. “What is happening to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Arrangement. The blessings and miracles and the like. I’m—” he cut off with another sob as the pain wracked through him. “I’m not made to do good works, Angel. Hurts me to do it. Little things weren’t so bad but the big things… the big stuff bloody—” he twisted away from the angel and vomited into the grass.</p><p> </p><p>“The big things,” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair, his eyes wide with horror. “Crowley, you helped <em> save the bloody world! </em> It was your idea! Why would you want to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Had </em> to do it, Only way to keep you with me,” Crowley cried, cupping the angel’s cheek. “Had to save the world to save you. I’d do it again, you know. Even knowing it kills me. I’d do it happily, all right? Don’t...don’t be sad, Angel.”</p><p> </p><p>“But… but <em> why?!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Crowley writhed in the angel’s lap, his teeth clenched against another excruciating jolt of pain.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in love with you, idiot,” Crowley sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m weak, I know. I just wanted to be near you and I’d have paid any price for it. I was selfish. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Cold spread over the demon, leaving him exhausted and hollow. The pain receded, and blackness rolled in leaving Crowley limp and lifeless in the angel’s arms.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Aziraphale sobbed. “No, no no no! You stubborn stupid snake!” he shouted against Crowley’s cold neck.</p><p> </p><p>“GaaAAhhH!” Crowley bolted awake again. “What the bloody Hell, Angel?!”</p><p> </p><p>They stared at each other for a moment, then Crowley frowned in confusion and looked down, patting at his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I… am I still alive?”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe so,” Aziraphale whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“The pain just… stopped,” Crowley stammered, and then he broke out in a giant grin. “The pain stopped!” He grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels of his overcoat and laughed excitedly in the angel’s pale face. “The pain is gone, Angel, I’m—” and abruptly Crowley remembered everything that had just happened, and more to the point, everything he had just confessed. The grin slipped from his lips and he slowly released the angel’s coat.</p><p><br/>Aziraphale clearly noted the demon’s retreat and his eyes narrowed slightly. Crowley swallowed and grinned weakly. “So… Hell of a day, amiright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley bolted out of arm's reach like his arse was on fire and Aziraphale rose to his feet gracefully.</p><p> </p><p>“You have been suffering from our Arrangement for centuries,” Aziraphale seethed. “And you hid it from me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Er…” Crowley replied nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“And this whole time, you’ve been <em> in love with me </em>, and you didn’t tell me that either?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well… I mean, I only just sort of came around to it, myself,” Crowley waffled. “And in my defense, my side would be really<em> really </em> extremely annoyed—”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah… but you don’t have a side anymore,” Aziraphale reminded him, taking a step closer to the demon. </p><p> </p><p>“Um…”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure I have ever been so very cross with you.” He took another several threatening steps closer to the demon.</p><p> </p><p>“All right, now look,” Crowley growled, jogging back to put the bench between them. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about. I did my job. I held up my end of our Arrangement. Just because I help back some a few details—”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you in any pain <em> now? </em>” Aziraphale demanded, slowly coming around the bench, matching Crowley’s retreat step for step.</p><p> </p><p>“Neh,” Crowley shrugged, circling the bench nervously. “Which is pretty weird. I was pretty sure I was on the brink of kicking it, to be honest.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re perfectly fine at the moment?” Aziraphale asked, innocently.</p><p> </p><p>“Erm… I’m… yeh?” Crowley ran a clammy hand through his hair. “I think so?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Aziraphale nodded. He looked off down the road. “Here comes the bus. Although… does it say Oxford?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll drive to London all the same,” Crowley shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“I will join you at yours tonight, if that offer still stands,” Aziraphale announced.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes? Yeah! ‘Course,” Crowley nodded emphatically. </p><p> </p><p>“Excellent, because I think I have a plan on how to survive tomorrow,” the angel smiled slightly. “And we have a lot to discuss.”</p><p> </p><p>“Discuss… yeh. Good,” Crowley agreed, slowly joining the angel to wait for the bus. He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, feeling sweat cooling on the back of his neck. “Plans are good.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe we will survive this, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching over to take the demon’s hand in his. “We will live, and you’re going to take me to dinner. And then, after we have had a chance to rest and celebrate our fraught victory, you are going to tell me everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley sighed and for the first time weighed how badly he really wanted to live after all.</p><p> </p><p>“And I suppose I ought to mention that I love you as well,” Aziraphale smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. Crowley’s knees nearly gave out from shock and relief. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe living wouldn’t be so bad...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One chapter left!</p><p>Your kudos wish them well on their body swap and urge our boys to get some rest.<br/>Your comments give Aziraphale a snake-wrangling net to use when Crowley inevitably tries to cheese it to get out of having *the talk*.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Support</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The trials are over and Aziraphale and Crowley are back in their proper corporations. Aziraphale seems content to wine and dine and laugh over their exploits. Crowley hopes to sneak off before the excitement wears off and the angel remembers what happened the night before. Unfortunately for the Serpent, Aziraphale is far from stupid and hasn’t forgotten a thing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here is the conclusion. Thanks so much for reading. I’ve appreciated all the comments. You’re all fantastic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley watched Aziraphale as they strolled around the corner and couldn’t help but smile at Aziraphale’s expression of glee and relief when the bookshop came into view. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Told you it was all back to rights,” he grinned. “Didn’t you believe me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>disbelieve </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,” Aziraphale assured him, excitedly quickening his pace. “After all, I saw your car looking perfectly sharp parked outside your building. It’s just another thing entirely to see it with my own eyes! I’m so relieved!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s heart jumped at the reminder of his Bentley’s resurrection and he understood exactly what Aziraphale meant. He couldn’t wait to slide behind the wheel and take her out for a speed around town. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, here we are. I’ll expect you’ll want some time to yourself to go over every single book and make sure all your dust is in the right place,” Crowley drawled, shifting to his backfoot to indicate his polite departure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yesterday had been a bloody awful day of loss and terror. Last night had been equally harrowing, if for different reasons. The agony he felt at the bus stop nearly stopped his heart. He was certain he was going to discorporate. He wouldn’t have been so foolish as to confess his pain, and worse, his feelings — </span>
  <em>
    <span>blurgh, yuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>— if he wasn’t completely sure he was about to slither off this mortal coil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he’d felt nearly drunk with relief when the pain abruptly stopped, terrified of Aziraphale’s fury at learning of his deception and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>had imminent executions hanging over their heads. The bright spot in that was that Aziraphale was forced to focus on his plan on how to survive and Crowley had been determined to keep that the focus of any and all conversation for the remainder of the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their meet up in the garden and their lunch at the Ritz had been pleasant, both of them giddy at having survived and awe-struck at the possibilities open before them now that they were free-agents. Crowley’s indiscretion hadn’t come up once, and Aziraphale seemed to have forgotten all about it. He’d remember at some point though, and Crowley very much wanted to be elsewhere when he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on in for another drink?” Aziraphale opened the door for him, his eyes shining with happiness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mnnehh… I really should get back to mine,” Crowley declined, shifting on his feet. “Wanna see the Bentley with my own eyes, like you said. Maybe finally get my head down and sleep for a few decades.” He yawned then and didn’t even have to fake it. He’d been yawning all afternoon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed joyously and Crowley grinned at the sound. Aziraphale’s laughter was one of the best sounds in the universe. Then the angel grabbed him by the front of the waistcoat and shoved him through the door before the surprised demon had a chance to react. Crowley pinwheeled his arms to keep from falling on his face, then whirled to face the angel who quickly closed the door behind them and turned the lock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>have that drink?” Crowley frowned, backing away a step. Aziraphale smiled tightly and motioned for the demon to go ahead into the back room. Crowley felt as though it were a gallows march.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to discuss what you told me last night," the angel told him, summoning up two wine glasses and yet another bottle of wine. Crowley grinned wanly and shot a longing glance at the exit behind his glasses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wasss thinking 'bout that actually," he drawled, wincing at the accidental hiss. Aziraphale looked to be giving him his full attention. "What I was thinking was…'' he stalled for time, thinking furiously. "...what if we </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually discuss it at all." He finished weakly with a meek ta-da hand gesture to finish his flawless delivery of a genius plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Crowley," Aziraphale deadpanned but Crowley steamrolled him, taking the wine bottle and glasses from his hand and flashing him his most charming smile. "Now now, hear me out for a moment, Angel," he purred, pouring a generous glass. He handed the glass over and coaxed Aziraphale to sit on the sofa before pouring himself a glass as well. Aziraphale did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> look impressed but he was listening so Crowley pressed on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Right. So... last night wasn't ideal but we had just pulled off one flaming Hell of a neat trick saving the world, and you had your epic adventure in discorportation and possession and my day was just literally one fire after another…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed but Crowley kept on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What I'm saying is, we were both knackered and—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Crowley!" Aziraphale chided firmly. "You didn't nearly die right in front of me because you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But I didn't die!" Crowley exclaimed (and wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>inconvenient?) "And the pain isn't nearly as intense now so—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Isn't as intense"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale quoted back, astonished. "Crowley are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> in pain?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> in pain. It was usually little more than a dull ache. Sometimes it came on more acutely and left him hissing and wincing. It was nothing like the agonies from doing holy sodding works though. He'd learned how to manage his pain. He was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "S'nothing to worry about. Like I told you, the bad pain's only from doing blessings and now that we're unbound from Heaven and Hell we don't need the Arrangement anymore so I'll be fine. No need to fuss."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No need to fuss," Aziraphale repeated, his voice frigid. "Crowley. You were in so much agony you believe you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>about to die! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why, in Heaven's name, wouldn't I fuss?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Because it's over, Angel!" Crowley insisted. "That's what we've been celebrating since lunch!  We're free.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have been suffering since the beginning of the Arrangement, Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. “You stubbornly kept agreeing to do things you knew would hurt you! Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ehhnn… Ffff,” Crowley waffled, wondering if he could escape if he just pulled a runner right now. “I mean, a deal’s a deal, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a demon,” Aziraphale snorted. “I’m positive you’re comfortable with cheating. The whole Arrangement was cheating! And don’t pretend you did this to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>happy. I’m certainly not happy to learn you’ve been afflicted so for centuries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sulked. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> make Aziraphale happy. More to the point, it made Aziraphale happy with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That part felt good. He liked the bit where the angel would praise him, tell him he’d done a good job. He wasn’t going to tell the fussing celestial that though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look. S’done,” Crowley pointed out. “No point in getting in a lather about it now. Nothing has to change.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I daresay a great deal has to change, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “You and I switched bodies earlier and I felt… I felt sick, and your bones ached. I was cold and tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley frowned, confused. When he’d been in Aziraphale’s body his chronic pain had come with him. It was part of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not his corporation. Aziraphale should have been fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make sense, Angel,” he put his glass down and sat beside Aziraphale, peering into his light blue eyes as if hoping he could see what was wrong. “The injury is part of who I am. It goes where I go. Whatever you felt, it wasn’t me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed and shook his head, gently taking Crowley’s hand. “My dear, do you think I haven’t seen addiction before? I’m an angel, Crowley. I go where people are suffering. I try to bring comfort where I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s eyes widened. When was the last time he’d taken his Vicodin before they switched? He’d needed to take more pills, more frequently lately. He should have thought of that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… You… you’re all right now, then, yeh?” Crowley squeezed the angel’s hand before pulling away. “And I’m… I’m managing it. Just a little ache from time to time. Let’s talk about something else now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to help you,” Aziraphale told him, staring into his wine glass. “Perhaps you only told me you loved me because you were afraid, but I meant every word. I love you, Crowley, and I think I can help, if you’ll let me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed in frustration and downed his glass. “You’re an angel. You love </span>
  <em>
    <span>everybody</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He quickly refilled his glass. “I am trying to salvage what I can here, Aziraphale. I don’t want things to change between us. I never did. That was the bloody point of it all!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale blinked. “The point of what? The Arrangement? Your chronic pain? </span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>were you keeping things from changing between us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley cursed himself and drained his glass again. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and his glass vanished out of his hand, prompting him to hiss angrily at the pushy blonde. He wanted to have this row so badly? Fine! Good! Great even! Air it all out and once the angel tossed him out on his ear he could go see his Bentley, then sleep for the rest of the century.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did it honestly escape your keen notice that despite the world being rather large and full of interesting people to tempt and corrupt, I somehow found myself beside </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>over and over again?” He turned his body to lean into Aziraphale, baring his teeth in anger. “I kept tabs on you. Followed you around like an idiot, telling head office I was thwarting whatever blessings or holy tripe you were spreading in whatever city I happened to follow you to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Aziraphale interjected, suspicious. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Were</span>
  </em>
  <span> you cancelling my good works?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… not </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time but yeh,” Crowley waved dismissively. “M’still a </span>
  <em>
    <span>demon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you git, even if I’m a shite one. Point is, I was running out of excuses to end up wherever the Heaven </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were! So… you know… I made up a new one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stared at him, his mouth slightly open in a look of utter shock. Crowley stared right back at him feeling immensely annoyed. He didn’t want things to change. He liked sharing drinks with the silly angel. He liked flustering him, and bickering and sharing drinks and stories and jokes that were centuries old. He didn’t want to lose any of it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was bound to lose all of it now regardless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, then,” he growled. “You wanted the bloody truth. Now you have it. The whole Arrangement was a scam to steal your time and attention and it fucking worked! So if it hurt now and then, I didn’t care! I don’t regret it! As I’ve told you several times now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m FINE!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled himself to his feet, not wanting to drag this out a second longer.  “I’m fine, Angel, and that’s why I didn’t want to talk about this because I’m fine and now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re not!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Now you’re looking at me like I’ve broken it all, but you’re the one who bloody pressed when I wanted to let it go. So I’ll just go now, shall I? I’ll just go—” he cut off with a snarled yelp when Aziraphale jumped to his feet and grabbed Crowley by the front of his waistcoat again and held him fast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare run away, Crowley,” Aziraphale ordered him. “You’ve been talking a great deal so far, but it is my turn to be heard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley fumbled awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do with his hands, before settling on loosely gripping the angel’s wrists. He stared at Aziraphale wide eyed in alarm, his heart beating out of his chest. Hearing him out was the last thing he wanted to do. Give him another dose of that tormenting pain but spare him the heartbreak of having to hear whatever Aziraphale was about to say!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pulled him closer and kissed him lightly. Crowley was so surprised he gasped against the angel’s lips, his spine ramrod stiff with shock. “Was that all right?” Aziraphale asked him, his voice barely a whisper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm Hmm,” Crowley confirmed and swallowed nervously, his heart a fluttering thing on the verge of collapse. Aziraphale kissed him again, more firmly. And again. And again. Crowley found his footing and some of the tension left his spine. “I thought you wanted to say something,” he murmured, smiling against Aziraphale’s lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe you can hear me,” Aziraphale replied with a sigh before kissing him again. Crowley’s eyes drifted closed as he tentatively returned the angel’s kiss. Aziraphale stepped closer to him, releasing his waistcoat in order to slide his warm hand into the small of his back, the other hand cupping his cheek, stroking through his hair. Crowley whimpered against Aziraphale’s mouth, wrapping his own skinny arms around the angel at last. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kiss deepened as they explored each other with lips and teeth and tongues and it may have lasted minutes or it may have been days but at some point Crowley became aware that they were on the sofa again. He was sprawled across the angel’s lap, held securely by gentle hands behind his neck, and on his hip. He let his own long fingers trace along Aziraphale’s cheek, over strong round shoulders. Crowley pulled himself tightly against the angel, chasing the warmth of his holy body and marveling at how it didn’t burn him. He’d always imagined he’d be incinerated by Grace for daring to touch the Principality like this. Instead he felt only loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Only’</span>
  </em>
  <span> loved, he chastised himself. As if he’d ever thought he’d feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Who could possibly love a demon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who else but Aziraphale?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me,” he gasped, letting his head fall back as Aziraphale trailed his plush lips over Crowley’s throat. “Please… please say it, Angel. Please tell me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed against his skin. “And I’m so sorry I suggested otherwise. I was afraid and I thought I could—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shaddup,” Crowley groaned. “Nothin’ t’be sorry for. Doesn’t matter anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What did a panicked exchange under the bandstand matter in the face of this liquid heat? What was happening here and now was all Crowley cared about. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale loved him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and somehow that love was simultaneously stabilizing him and driving him spare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me help you, darling,” Aziraphale pleaded, gathering Crowley closer into his arms. “Give me the chance to sooth your hurts with warmth and kind touches. Let me massage the ache away—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Massage…?” Crowley laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “Angel… wot are you asking me for exactly?” He pulled away to look at him seriously. He looked beautiful, his white-blonde curls mussed from Crowley’s teasing fingers, his lips pink from kisses. At some point Aziraphale had lost his bow tie and Crowley had lost his glasses. It was a shame the snogging had to be stopped for something as foolish as what Aziraphale was going to say next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like you to give up using opioids,” he said, confirming Crowley’s suspicions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want me to give up my pain medication… for a heating pad and a massage?” Crowley asked, incredulous. “Angel. I love you. I do. But no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve developed a dependency,” Aziraphale told him gently and Crowley scoffed, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeh. No shit, Aziraphale!” he growled, clambering off the angel’s lap. “Tha’s why I’m saying no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After all the agonies you’ve faced gladly over the Arrangement, can you not face some discomfort for the sake of your own recovery?” Aziraphale challenged and Crowley tossed him a sulky glare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hardly endured all that </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘gladly’</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he grumbled. “And anyway, wot I’m doing now is working out all right. Not like I’m still using the real dangerous stuff. I’ve got a system. S’all under control.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed and looked away. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pull back his age-old defenses. He knew they wouldn’t help him with Aziraphale. It was maddeningly ironic that the very things that helped him survive all these thousands of years would turn out to be a hindrance to him now. The bitterness and unwillingness to trust. The cynicism, obfuscations, and avoidance. The unending urge to run away and hide,</span>
  <em>
    <span> to sleep.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He dearly wanted to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or did he just want to shut the ugliness out. The boredom, the anxiety, the feelings of worthlessness? The alcohol had been the same. And the drugs. Even the sex. Sure he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>survived</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Standing in this room, the heat of Aziraphale’s kisses still lingering on his skin, he needed more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley grumbled, finding his pride to be a particularly difficult pill to swallow. He dropped back down on the sofa beside the angel and folded his arms defensively across his chest hoping the angel would know he was reaching out just the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Suppose if you hung around addicts you probably heard that a lot,” he muttered, looking at his hands. Aziraphale gave him a questioning look and Crowley shrugged sheepishly. “You know… ‘I’m fine’. ‘S’all under control’…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “But I won’t push you if you’re not ready. You mean too much to me Crowley. I’ll be here for you regardless of your sobriety. I mean that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley flinched at the realization that — holy shit!— Aziraphale really </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean that! He’d figured he’d need to get clean in order to keep the angel around him and the pressure was terrifying because Crowley was, at his core, so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>weak…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to… be dependent on anything,” Crowley admitted. “But — and don’t get me wrong, hot baths and massages sound amazing— but… Angel, I’m gonna mess it up. I know I will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You might,” Aziraphale gently slid his hand through his hair and Crowley sighed, pressing his head against the angel’s palm. “And then you’ll try again, and I’ll be with you each step of the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmmnnn... you might regret agreeing to that,” Crowley laughed weakly. “I might be a bit of a mess and I can be a bit difficult on a good day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a Principality,” Aziraphale puffed himself up with mock arrogance. “I can handle a difficult demon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley laughed and shook his head. The number of times he’d badly flustered this particular Principality were too numerous to count. Still, the confidence </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>reassuring, and he’d done his part to warn the angel off. If Aziraphale really wanted to try, and if it would mean more kisses and snuggling on the sofa, then maybe Crowley could try as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All right,” he nodded and rolled his eyes pretending to be exhausted by Aziraphale’s happy grin. The angel wrapped his arms around him and he leaned into the embrace, hiding his smile as best he could behind the collar of his jacket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chills came on a few hours later and Aziraphale made him tea and set a blanket around his shoulders. Crowley snuggled in against the angel and watched him as he read. Crowley smiled to himself through the ache in his skull and shifted down to a more comfortable position, curled on his side with his head on a soft, warm angel lap. Gentle fingers massaged his scalp, pausing only to flip a page before resuming their firm circular ministrations. Crowley’s muscles slowly began to relax in boneless pleasure and his eyelids grew heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>T</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>his could work,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, nuzzling the angel’s knee when the fingers stopped moving for a moment. Aziraphale chuckled and resumed the massage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, this could definitely work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want to be kept somewhat up to date on what I’m doing or my current excuses for not updating, please follow me on<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4"> Twitter</a>, or  <a href="https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>